Enchantment, silliness, wonder and the everyday simplicity of a subtle "ahh" moment have always been the stuff of life which allows me to detach from the mundane and find a spiritual humility; gratitude and perspective.  Having found myself in the prime of my life disabled with decreasing mobility and daily intractable pain, a whimsical moment, or more to the point, the ability to look and find a whimsical moment has been a literal saving grace. Writing, essays, short fiction, poetry, and of course the occasional rant offers me a reliable path to see and believe the everpresent whimsy in my life.  

Often of late, my condition leaves me home bound or even room bound for several weeks at a time; each day out and about with even mild activity can rebound directly into 'flat on my back'  again.  It can be lonely.  

I began having the recurrent train of thought, that if seeking, spinning whimsy can help me reconnect with the best parts of myself, why wouldn't sharing these words and stories help build connections with others?  It is a simple premise; not all that original.  Yet aren't the best ideas simple?  Simple, yes; easy, not so much. 

I previously learned in the course of accepting help in another type of suffering derailing my life the power of sharing my experience with others. Walking headfirst into my fears and sharing honestly my vulnerabilities were often the most fertile meeting ground for forming connections and better, offering another a similar sense of hope, relatedness. Somehow becoming physically disabled and having crazy pain seemed at odds with the fellowship I had already found, trusted.  The worse my spine deteriorated the more and more difficult it became for me to show up in the arenas of life I loved and aspired to be committed.  Room parent in school, volunteer in pto, coffee maker in meeting, even primary homemaker in my house; these roles I loved and took pride in became increasingly difficult until they became shadows and shames.  So many activities I engaged in when my children were young which they have no recollection of other than my stories and some photographs.  The first bridge was making the connection from my head to my heart, accepting I was not going to be able to do many things I could barely imagine as not a part of my life.  A parallel bridge is accepting there is no shame in this.  

It has taken a handful of years and increasing disability for me to push through my hesitation to identify myself as someone with chronic pain and disability.  It is not easy.  The gulf which I struggle across between my sense of what life would be and what life is; the canyon I can lose myself in as I learn to accept my body and its limitations as a characteristic, not a label, these are the fears which turned inside translate to a shame not so subtle.  I understand not all will relate. Whimspun is in search of those who do, or perhaps those who want to.

Whimspun, a Blog is a newborn work in progress.  While I will be exploring the topics I touched on above, I promise WHIMSY in all of its glory will be the heart and soul of this particular note in a bottle. Striving for an ebb and flow between reader and myself, pursuing whimsy and honesty, can ideally increase the compassion, laughter, joy, acceptance and of course, Ahhaa moments in all of our lives.  That is a very good thing!

Whimsy Is Hope!                                                                                      Pass it On!

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